My wife has a hell of a tolerance for pain.  She has had four children, experienced both natural and cesarean childbirth, and been through trials and tribulations that I will not mention here.  She also bears an intense fear of and hatred for hospitals. If she can avoid going, she will, with the noteworthy exception of her children.  For them, she will do anything.

I had been home from the hospital for about a week when she called me at work. She’d been having stomach cramps for much of the day, and they were increasing in both frequency and intensity. She asked me to come home early, and I obliged. I made it home to find her pale, in pain, and surrounded by two of her good friends.  She looked at me, tears in her eyes, and said, “It really hurts, baby. I think I need to go in.” Her friends immediately offered to watch the kids, we each grabbed something to distract ourselves in the waiting room, and we were on our way back to McLaren.

It was a night-and-day experience next to my trip in.  We sat in the waiting room for four hours while her cramping got worse and worse.  “Breathe, baby, breathe,” became my mantra. We saw the waiting room fill and fill while we heard announcement after announcement for incoming ambulances. We had thought that the line in front of us was long, but it didn’t hold a candle to those that arrived after. Eventually, finally, they took us to a bed in the emergency department.

Blood work showed nothing. X-rays of her digestive system showed nothing. An ultrasound of her gallbladder had doctors arguing over whether or not there were stones, let alone how many and how large. All kinds of frustration was had. Nikki flowed in and out of drugged dozing, which was a relief. Though the IV drugs had hit her like a mule kick to the chest, they took the edge off enough for her to relax. Not enough for her to fall asleep, but this was definitely better than nothing. Six hours and one trip to Fleetwood later, they found a room for her. On the oncology floor.

I had already let my boss know that I wasn’t coming in to work the next day, but I needed to go home and relieve our friend, and be there for the kids when they woke up the next morning. So, I helped tuck Nikki into bed, went home to discover how hard this was on our oldest, and sent our kid-sitter home to her husband and daughter.

To be continued…

It feels strange to realize that you are the cause of your own sleeplessness. I had a roommate in my hospital room, and my snoring woke him shortly after I was shown to my bed.  He turned on his TV to muffle the noise, as drowning it out would have been a futile effort. The TV broke through my sleep, and woke me up.  I’m certain that my roommate and I cycled in and out of dozing for most of the early morning.  Later, when the sequence of likely events had clicked, I apologized to him.  He was gracious enough to accept.

It’s worth noting, I think, that hospital food is still terrible.  Though, now that I have an inkling of what it’s like to juggle dietary restriction (both before medical incident and after), budget, hitting some sort of healthiness goal, and more budget, I can’t imagine throwing in mass production.  Feeding patients, employees, and visitors in a hospital is putting food in a lot of mouths.  So, while I grumble about my dining experience, my hat is off to those doing the job.  You jump through hoops that I couldn’t.

When Nikki walked in to my room, my spirit soared.  I had guessed she was on her way, because she’d stopped responding to text messages and emails.  Having that knowledge didn’t dampen how good it felt, even a little bit.  She did a magnificent job trying to hold back her fear and worry for me – she only teared up once or twice.  Wren came with, since they were heading up to Frankenmuth together.  She gave me a sisterly punch in the arm and told me how stupid I’d been for not going in earlier.  I grinned, told her “Thank you,” and stuck out my tongue.  They both went on their day, despite their worry for me, and that made me happy.  I know it’s not easy to put aside worry and enjoy the moment.  I was glad not to ruin it for them.

My Dad’s a superhero.  I don’t know if I’ve mentioned that here, but he is.  I don’t ask the man where he hides his cape.  It’s a respect thing.  It’s there, though.  He made the trip up from the T-W-P to watch the kids so that Nikki and Wren could go on their trip while I was having my heart tested.  And after I was cleared to go home (did I mention that my heart seems to be perfectly healthy?), he and Cian initiated Project Get-Nikki-Flowers-While-She’s-Out-Of-Town-So-She-Gets-A-Happy-Surprise-Upon-Her-Return-Home to great success.  While I may have been the mastermind behind project GNFWSOOTSSGAHSUHRH, it couldn’t have been done without the superhero.

I would be a jerk if I didn’t mention Dad’s oft-underestimated partner in superheroing, Mom.  She stayed home with Grandma so that Dad could come up and help out.  I’m certain that she has a super power, and I think it revolves around putting up with Dad, Joe, and me.  Ask Nikki, that’s no task for a normal human.

Gentle reader, I would be happy to end my tale here.  Me, safely home with no heart problems.  Nikki and Wren, bellies full of Truth Chicken.  Dad, Acelyn, and Cian, hearts full of play time.  Alas, it was not to be.